


Stuck in a Rut

by aceaster



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Rutting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22953052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceaster/pseuds/aceaster
Summary: Alastor goes into a rut every 10 years. It’s obviously Hell. After watching for decades, Husk tries to help.Tags will be updated as needed.
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 184





	Stuck in a Rut

Husk observed the patrons in the bar, his claws entangled with a thin rag stained with various substances in an array of colours. He'd been wiping the same area of counter for the past ten minutes, cigar hanging loose from his lips. It’d been a quiet night. Boring as fuck, like most Wednesdays. He had a buzz going, but nothing like what he preferred by this time of the night; no one else was going to keep the few patrons’ disagreements under control or keep track of who’d paid their tab that night. 

Fuckin’ Alastor. 

Not that he could blame the fucker for his absence. Husk was keenly aware what year it was: year 10, the year Alastor suffered through his Rut. Husk could sympathise. Since manifesting in Hell he’d had a few heats of his own, a week or two where his skin felt too hot and too itchy and tight around his bones, and his cock felt stiff and aching  _ all the time _ . When he’d just about  _ die  _ to fuck or be fucked by someone. Lucky for him, drinking killed his libido and all the natural rhythms associated with his more feline instincts. After all, it was hard to fuck, purr or groom yourself when you were unconscious. Alastor’s though… 

The dance was carved into Husk’s brain. Deep, like initials etched into wood. First, a month of extreme agitation, aggression and blood-lust. His patience was nonexistant and the only thing to soothe that was violence. It’s like Al’s sadism went into hyperdrive, a craving as opposed to a preference or a treat he dabbled in when the urge struck. Any excuse to rip out someone’s intestines was taken, grasped at with claws and sharp, yellow teeth. Which, for the record, was fucking terrifying. Husk didn’t find Alastor threatening like the majority of hell did. A long friendship did that, no matter how much Husk attempted to deny its existance. But there was something about someone getting their arms ripped off for sneezing a bit too loud that made Husk wary of pissing Alastor off. 

And Alastor had been relentless, that incident only one of several dozen, his usual jovial mood and large, sharp grin replaced with the irritability of an old tomcat. Only his claws tore through bones and muscle like a knife through water. 

Husk grabbed the dustpan and broom, and started to sweep around the front of the bar, ears twitching when raucous laughter erupted from the two women laid out on the lounge chairs. The music had petered out about half an hour ago, and he hadn’t bothered to start it back up. It was quiet. So fucking quiet. The  _ shhht shhht  _ of the broom was louder than the fucking bar had been that night. The couple in the lounge chairs be damned.

Sharp, gold eyes examined the dust and debris in the plastic pan. Alastor’s antlers were moulting, leaving black, velvet confetti all over the joint. Towards the beginning, there’d be strings of it if Alastor wasn’t paying attention. Husk was getting tired of having to sweep that shit up. Husk examined it, rubbing absently at his back as he made his way to the bin behind his counter, before sniffling loudly and dumping the whole thing into the trash. Inconsiderate fuck.

Charlie had had enough, soon enough. It was why Alastor wasn’t available. This was Alastor’s first rut at the hotel and when his ‘bad mood’ hadn’t improved he’d been banished until he could promise not to decapitate anymore of the residents. A big ask, Husk knew, whilst Al was in his current state. Charlie didn’t even know how lucky she was to get out of that conversation with her fingers intact especially with the way she’d aparently been waggling one at him. 

Husk sighed, putting out his cigar with a hiss before moving to hustle the last stragglers from the bar. They'd go with giggles and spagetti-legged grace. Time to close shop. It was early, but no point staying open when the bills were going to cost more than what they were bringing in. Not that he really cared about that. He just wanted to down a bottle of whiskey and pass out until morning. 

Soon it would be the second stage; a month with Alastor locked away. Husk could only guess what Alastor did whilst locked in his bedroom. Everyone knew of Alastor’s aversion to sex and touch and everything in between. Husk had to admit that he was curious: did Alastor’s repulsion extend to him touching himself? Husk was sure this was Alastor’s punishment in Hell. It had to be. Husk couldn’t imagine - didn’t want to, in fact - what it was like to feel the utter need to do something he found so revolting, so disgusting it would literally make Alastor's skin crawl. All he knew was that he didn’t see hide nor hair of the noisy shit for weeks. 

Husk would usually try and leave Alastor be. He’d eventually appear in Husk’s life again, loud and obnoxious and as fucking annoying as he always was, ravenous and eager as a puppy for pasta or stew. Space was something Husk knew how to give though he’d lacked it for the first few months he’d known The Radio Demon. 

“Another daiquiri, Old Man!” 

Husk flipped the open sign to closed and locked the door, glaring over his shoulder. “Make it yourself. I’m fucking busy,” he grumbled, stacking chairs on tables and eyeing sticky spots with obvious disgust, careful to avoid them. He left them for Niffty. “And we’re closed now, so hurry the fuck up.”

Angel Dust leaned enticingly over the countertop, a pout on his lips as he angled his hips up and levelled Husk with a playful look over his shoulder, “But I’m a paying customer.” If Husk had any inclination he would have been able to see straight up that tight, little skirt. He was sure that was the point. 

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

Angel Dust’s pout stretched into a salacious smirk immediately as he straightened, one set of hands on his hips as another went for various bottles, “I could be if you want.” 

The spider demon was already standing behind the bar when Husk turned to glare at him, “fuck off with that shit, alright? I’m not interested.” 

“If you’re sure, Old Man. The offer’s always there.” 

He was. He abso-fucking-lutely was. It wasn’t that Angel Dust wasn’t attractive, cause the bastard was. Fucking long,  _ long _ legs and fluff so soft. Husk could definitely see the appeal. It was just - and it fucking stung to admit it, even to himself - Angel Dust wasn’t Alastor. He wasn’t prim and proper with good manners and an appetite for others' discomfort, or their awkward, annoyed airs. He didn’t hum when he cooked, or trot around when he was pleased, or leaving hoof prints in the snow. He didn't level Husk with a disapproving look whenever he visited and Husk was close to passed out drunk, but would drag him to bed and tuck a blanket around him regardless. He also didn’t have stupidly soft ears and hair, and a silhouette that caught and held Husk’s golden gaze every fucking time he saw it. 

Husk got lonely during Alastor’s second stage. It felt  _ wrong _ not having Alastor fucking with him. He often felt the need to check on him. Was Alastor like Husk during his rare heats? All sex, no inclination to eat or sleep or shower?

The third stage was extreme fatigue and a hunger Alastor could barely sate, so he supposed so. This was the stage which always ended up with the shit scared right out of Husk; Alastor always eyed him differently that month. Like he was thinking about licking him right up and crunching him into goo or swallowing him whole if he was impatient enough. Luckily Husk had a small repertoire of easy to make meals that seemed to recover Alastor’s strength and senses. Big meals that were mostly red meat and carbs. Huge meals, in fact. Fucker ate enough to feed a bloody army during those few weeks. 

Then came the last stage: another month hidden away from everyone. Husk could only guess that it was so Alastor could get his shit back together. Maybe it was when Alastor’s shame finally caught up to him? Unlike Husk who always reached for a bottle of something strong whenever he aimed to forget or comfort himself, Alastor kept to himself. It was understandable. He was the biggest control freak Husk had ever had the displeasure of meeting. The entire Rut Debacle probably made him want to throw himself off the nearest cliff or make him want to walk out and say hi during the Rapture. 

Either way, Husk had caught on to the pattern and he was sure Alastor knew that too. He probably though Husk wouldn’t do or say anything about it. Which was true. Husk wouldn’t bring it up. It wasn’t any of his fucking business.

**Author's Note:**

> uh, so. I haven't written in legit years and am totally out of practice, but I had a Dire Need and I needed answers. 
> 
> Let me just preface the rest of this fic with I'm not an expert on asexuality or sex repulsion or anything like that. I'm asexual and sex-repulsed (Alastor's reaction to Angel in the pilot is completely Relatable to me), but yeah. Not an expert. 
> 
> i was struck by the sudden question, "what would it be like for Alastor to go into a rut, considering his feelings towards sex?" I want to explore that. 
> 
> so uh. Here we go. Let's see where this takes us~


End file.
